And I Let Go
by Kaze-chan
Summary: He let go... of his life, of himself, and the lies so many times...


  
DISCLAIMER: Much as I delude myself into believing that I might actually _own_ FY in some Alternate Universe or the like, I know I never do and never will, mwa ha ha ha!   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was FUN. Literally tonight I got a fic idea sitting here at my computer, opened up Word, spent a couple hours writing and FINISHED! It's my SHORTEST THING YET!   
This is mostly thought, not much action (or plot --;;;;) but I kind of like it. I was debating on not posting it, but Mouse-chan said to, and I follow her lead (on most things, definitely not all! ^_^).   
Want a soundtrack? I wrote this listening pretty much entirely to Mizu Kagami ^_^ It seemed to fit somehow, try it yourself...   
Warnings: angst, angst, angst, one or two swear words, angst, a can-be-taken-the-wrong-way thing at the end, angst, a bit of violence, and did I mention angst? ^_~   
And pleeeeeeaaaaaase review! I'm desperate for reviews!   
  


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I… I can't tell them. I just can't.   
I mean, how would I tell them? _Dou-san, Kaa-san, I tried to murder seven people who turned out to be my friends, but one of their friends stopped me, so I ran and they chased me and I tried to kill myself._   
No. It's impossible.   
They'd never believe me. Who in my new life would? Sweet, gentle Kaika, always helping his "parents" and neighbors, working hard in the fields to grow the crops that will be harvested soon. Who plays the flute so fluently, like water in a still pool.   
Would Kaika try and kill? No.   
But Amiboshi would.   
Amiboshi would kill, and he has killed. Kaika cannot fathom the idea.   
They are both me. I am them. I have lived several lives. First as Koutoku, the boy who lived happily until he and his brother Shunkaku watched his parents be torn to pieces in a bloody battle of a civil war, killed solely because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We'd known we were Amiboshi and Suboshi, but that always seemed far in the distance, a "someday" that was right around the corner and never reached us. I'd raised him myself after that. He began calling me Amiboshi then. I guess he thought that if we were seishi and lived as seishi we might not be helpless. I indulged him by practicing my flute, and although I didn't admit it I found it a soothing distraction from the endless work we had to undertake to keep ourselves fed and clothed. Shunkaku was also practicing, fashioning himself a weapon he termed the ryuseisui and honing his mind control powers.   
But we hadn't really been Amiboshi and Suboshi - at least to me - until Nakago appeared. One day, six months before the appearance of Seiryu no Miko, we returned home to find his overly-large white stallion standing outside the door of our little hovel, the Shogun next to it in full Imperial armor, the dragon helmet and hood swathing most of his face in a blue fabric that matched his eyes. Destiny had arrived, and unquestioningly we followed back to the capital, through the large gates, into the throne room. We knelt before the emperor, bared our shoulders to show our symbols, and were accepted as Seiryu seishi.   
I refused to be known as Koutoku after that. It was a child's name, still sweet, innocent, and pure. Amiboshi seemed to fit the new me so much better, a warrior's name, as I was required to practice now by wounding prisoners in the dungeons. By myself I would perfect the healing aspects of my music, the benevolent side, the soothing. And I watched my twin grow farther and farther away from me.   
And I let go.   
I knew my childhood was done when Nakago sent me to Konan, to intercept the miko and earn their trust by "being" Chiriko. And then kill them. I know now that I had been brainwashed. Nakago had told me so often that Konan was the cause of everything wrong in Kutou and wanted to take over all the countries, and I let myself be blinded to the truth, believing him without a question. After all, it was the first explanation that ever made sense. And if they threatened not only my country but Hokkan and Sairou as well, then they should be stopped. And I was willing to go if it would stop.   
So I went. I tore my clothes with thorns and scratched my face with a stick, and the assassin sent with me hit me with a fallen tree branch to give me bruises. And our plan worked perfectly. I didn't want to kill the man… but he had been told what would happen, and he'd gone anyway. He was willing to make the same sacrifice as I was, if it would save us. Or so I thought. But he died, no matter what his motives. And the miko and seishi accepted me into their circle.   
And I let go.   
Each day, each hour, each _second_ I spent with them after that fateful night I could feel the cloak of lies that had been pulled unknowingly over my heart unravel, the threads flying away on the wind. For the first time in months, maybe years, I was liked, and not for my powers. Even the okama seemed to get used to me, although we had disagreements at times. I especially liked spending time with Mitsukake. He was a quiet man, but I didn't need talk to communicate friendship. I played my flute, and as I played his smile, his small, sad smile that somehow conveyed all the pain in the world would appear. I had found a fellow suffering soul, though I never asked about his past. If he was like me, he would not like talking about it, and I respected him even more than the others.   
And I let go.   
Oh Seiryu, Suzaku, _why_ did I have to be born under the blue star?! Why couldn't I live as a Suzaku if I had to be a seishi at all?! If I wasn't a seishi then I wouldn't have lost Shunkaku, wouldn't have lost Koutoku, wouldn't have lost my self-respect and the only friends I'd had since my parents died. The Seiryu seishi were all so cold, cold as the ice floes in Hokkan mountain ranges, never sharing and rarely speaking. Even Suboshi. I can't think of him as Shunkaku. He is bloodthirsty; he, too believes Nakago's stories, but a much worse fire than patriotism burns in his heart. He will kill in cold blood. After meeting the Suzaku, I doubted I could kill at all.   
I wouldn't have done it, oh Sei- Suzaku, I wouldn't have, would have cried out before the ceremony even had the chance to begin, crying "I am Amiboshi! I'm one of Seiryu's!" I would have ripped off my sleeve if need be to display my glowing blue mark, would have broken my flute in two and helped them search for the real Chiriko, begged their forgiveness for deceiving them. But the bastard still had Suboshi. And even if he wasn't still Shunkaku, that was how my memory held him, as the wide-eyed innocent mirror image I'd watched fall asleep every night for nine years. And if Nakago hurt him, I could never forgive myself. So I kept my silence, brought my flute to my lips, and played my killing melody, the harmony of agony pouring forth, mutely pleading for forgiveness from any god listening.   
I was glad when that other sound broke through my spell, but then my mind began to scramble. The only thing I could think was _it's going! It's going!_ Then Tamahome, who I'd helped rescue from Kutou, had kicked me across the face. I deserved it, didn't fight, let them hit me once or twice before playing the convincing bad guy and running away. I ran, ran, Tasuki and Tamahome just a few steps behind me, arriving at the dock with only the thought of getting OUT of there and going some place the seishi had never been heard of! But they'd caught me there… And Miaka had appeared…   
And I let go.   
They would never forgive me. So I smiled once, one last time, at Miaka, and saw her smile back… such a sweet smile, so full of life and hope… and I let go.   
The water had welcomed me, enveloping me in its wonderful, pain-numbing rush. I heard Miaka desperately call my name - Chiriko's name, in the weeks with the Suzaku I'd grown used to being him, almost half believed I _was_ him. But I was not, I never was and I never could be. The water was so kind to me, sweeping me along as swift as driftwood, which was all I was worth, I who would destroy my friends. In the wild surf in front of me there were rocks, and I hit some, but the current always dragged me around them and kept me flying through the water. I welcomed each and every strike, feeling it was the smallest punishment I deserved. I hadn't tried to swim, hold my breath, and the water rushed in every opening it found, slowly trickling into my mouth, running down my throat… then one large rock, in front of me…   
And I let go.   
When the darkness lifted I had no idea where I was… or who. I was dressed in white clothing that had ornate blue and gold borders, with a shirt of the same blue under the snow-white tunic. Something was making my forehead itch; I reached up to find a headband of matching blue wrapped around my head, my bangs flopping over it carelessly.   
I had no idea what in the world happened to me, where I was, who I was, even how old. So when the old couple told me I was their son, I believed them. They said I had fallen off my horse while riding and my memory had been affected. To "help" me regain it, they told me stories about everything "I" had done as a boy, from falling out of trees to throwing mud on "Dou-san's" tools. I believed them, laughing at some things, blushing at others, all the time flickers of scenes appearing in my mind. Slowly at first, but more and more as the weeks progressed, images and faces and sounds and smells passed before me, none of them matching the happy, carefree life my "parents" painted for me.   
And I let myself go.   
One of the first scenes that came in its entirety was in the shrine of Suzaku. I knew then, that early, that I was not these people's son. I was not Kaika. Or… I had not been. Now I would be. These kind people, whether they knew it or not, were giving me a way to never have to deal with this war again. I welcomed it with open arms. Life in the small town was pleasant, peaceful in a way my life hadn't been since my parents had been killed. I became Kaika, heart and soul. It was wonderful, working in the fields with my father, bringing my mother the vegetables for the nightly cooking, relaxing and getting to _live_ again. Even the lack of people my age didn't dampen my spirits, although Kaa-san seemed worried about it, thinking there'd be no one for me to marry. But I didn't want to marry. I began swearing, at least out loud, by Byakko, the god of Sairou, though I had a harder time changing my thought process. Life was good again, at last. I couldn't live without music though, and made myself a flute from a nicely shaped branch I found by the road one day. Once I could play again, I was almost fully content.   
Until Dou-san told me of a local ritual. To become a man, an adolescent must perform an act of bravery. He told me of a rabid wild weasel that had been getting into the crops and killing chickens, and asked me to go after it. In other words, if I didn't, I was in _big_ trouble. However, I knew I could handle it, and if worst came to absolute worst I could take out my flute, though I was reluctant to do that for fear of the Seiryu feeling my life force and finding me. I tracked the weasel one night as it left the village, sword at my side and ready to draw, following it back to its burrow in hopes of destroying any young it might have as well. It ran out of the village, across the grassy fields, and into the rocky canyon a few miles from home, while I silently shadowed it.   
I saw it disappear into the rock face and looked around. Its vanishing could only mean something was coming. I melted into the shadows, drawing the dull-colored cape tightly about myself to hide the bright white of my clothes. Suddenly rocks started falling from above, small pebbles followed closely by fist-sized stones. A dull thud echoed through the lower canyon as something heavy hit the bottom.   
I remained where I was, wondering what had fallen. Then another echo - a voice, a feminine voice, one that seemed strangely familiar… but before I could place it, there came more movement among the rocks that I knew was the weasel, and quickly drew my sword. The voice rose, calling out a name… _Tamahome._   
Suzaku, _why_ did I have to remember?! That one name, THAT NAME brought it all back to me! I only remembered certain things, enough to know I wanted out of the fighting, enough to know I had done horrible things, enough to know I never wanted to remember more of that life ever again! But it returned to me! With THAT NAME! I suppose any of the names would have had a similar effect on me, but I also knew who the girl was now - Miaka.   
I revealed myself, trying to draw the weasel's attention to me by talking to it. A fearsome shriek, a frightened scream, a yell to duck, and my sword was embedded in the weasel's head. I stepped out of the shadows. For one heart-wrenching moment, Miaka thought I was my brother. I calmed her down, never revealing I knew who she was. Then she fainted. The only thing I could do was take her to my home.   
Why? Destiny was using me, would not let me escape. I did not WANT to be a Seiryu seishi! I didn't want to be a seishi at all! But fate… that cruel master, was drawing me back, first with helping me remember it all, then bringing Miaka to me again.   
And this time, I could not let go.   
It's obvious Miaka knows. Her tirade at dinner last night was fairly obvious. And it's also obvious that my parents are worried I'll learn of my past and leave. But that's the farthest thing from my mind. After this is over I'm staying here, near them. Maybe I'll drink the forgetfulness juice and have it completely erased from my memory. No thoughts of being a seishi. No remembrances. Once either Seiryu or Suzaku is called, there will be no need for seishi. The blue mark will never appear again, and I can be simply Kaika. I do not want to be Amiboshi if Amiboshi cannot do good. And Koutoku is lost to me forever.   
But at the moment, I can repay some of my debt. I am standing in the temporary room of the girl I love. She has been here a week, and already seems as if she's been with us forever.   
But… she is dying. Kaa-san got the dose wrong, and a fever has taken Miaka. I have no idea how I can explain her recovery to my parents - _I tried to kill her about two months ago, that's how I ended up in your river, oh, and by the way… _- but there is nothing else to be done.   
And so I take off my tunic, my shirt, my shoes, and gently lie down on top of Miaka.   
I step into the role of Amiboshi once more, holding my mouth close to hers, letting the ki flow across the empty air between us, filling her, healing, curing…   
This will reveal me to the Seiryu, prove to Miaka that all along I've been lying. But… maybe… I can convince her to stay here, with me…   
And I let myself go.   
  


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AUTHOR'S NOTES II: To all Suboshi fans who might be after my guts right now, sorry. But it's hard to deny that he's unusually violent --;;;   
There are other Amiboshi fics out there, but I don't know if there's one like this. I guess I see things in a different light from most people. And Amiboshi's reactions... honestly, with all the boy's been through, how can there _not_ be interior torture?   
Any blatent screw-ups with scenes from the anime are purely my fault, I don't have a reference by which to check my work (I only own the OVAs, I borrow the seasons from my friend)   
POOOLLLLLLLLLL! Who here thinks Kaze-chan can write something that at some point is NOT angsty/depressing? Let me know what you think when you review! ^_^ 


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